Epilogue: Father Abraham
by PutMoneyInThyPurse
Summary: I just can't get enough of this ep. This is a two-parter. ETA: Three-parter, now! Get-Scotty, because duh.
1. Epiphany

John Wayne and adrenalin are both effective up to a point, but his shoulder's sick agony. By the time Kelly's finished telling the General about his hero son, Scotty's slumped against the side of the chair, wishing the shot had been fatal, or knocked him out at the very least.

Kelly takes charge, and Scotty lets him – giving instructions, securing the woman, calling for help, putting an arm round him, steadying him to the car. The words 'blood loss' have been spoken several times, enough for him to know that Kelly's worried. There's a pile of scarlet towels at his feet by the time they stumble out of the villa, but Kel's resolute, pressing a pad against his chest and holding it there for him, as his other arm seems to have checked out. Shock, he tries to tell Kelly, but beyond dragging a blanket along, Kel doesn't mention it.

His partner lets the General drive, opening the door for Gary, whose hands are going to be pretty useless for a while. Scotty remembers how he refused to untie Gary, shuddering as he hears in his mind the gasps of agony, remembers the instruction, "Kill the left arm." He'd be angry at the General, hate him maybe, if he had the strength.

_Abraham bound his son to the altar and picked up his knife to slay his son. _He chokes off the memory sternly. It's not something he thinks about.

He blinks. Somehow, during Scotty's reverie, his partner's got him wrapped in a blanket, settled in the back seat resting against Kelly's chest, Kelly's arm wrapped around him, holding a cloth gently against his wound, the other arm braced firmly against the front seat so as not to jar him.

Scotty opens his mouth for a quip, but, hit by a wave of dizziness, leans back, his head finding Kelly's shoulder. Kelly's murmuring words of comfort and encouragement steadily into his ear, underlain by the General's somewhat louder monologue about how proud he is of his son, and Gary's shy, delighted acknowledgement.

Scotty listens somewhat lightheadedly, only slightly distracted by the wetness on his chest, and suddenly, every trace of bitterness is swept away by the realization of what's always been there, but never seen so clearly and starkly as now.

Gary's happy at his father's love, his acceptance, although it's – what's that new term he read about? 'conditional.' The General only warmed to his son when he discovered he hadn't really "spilled like a ruptured watercan." He withheld his help, his affection, because he thought Gary talked under torture – called him a traitor (although anyone can talk, given enough pressure. Even with his brain only half-functioning, Scotty'd have thought a general would know that.)

"Kel," he says loudly, only it comes out as a gurgle.

"You wanna pipe down, Homer. You donated a few pints of blood to the bedbugs back at the villa, you know…"

"Would you…" He's chilly, and giggly. "Would you refuse to untie me?" He _thinks _ he sounds coherent, but he's not really sure.

Kelly shushes him. "Save your breath, man. I think you nicked an artery, or maybe it's all that runnin' your mouth getting the circulation going…"

"You wouldn't refs… fus.." He's got to try harder. "You…you refuse to… Y'know, if… spilled secrets?"

"What's wrong with you, man? Just please, cool it, okay? A few more minutes and the finest Italian doctors will be lookin' at you, which isn't saying much, but…"

"Would ya, Kel? Mm?"

"What," his partner's voice is distracted, chafing his hands, wrapping his arms round Scotty, "are you runnin' your mouth about that can't the hell _wait?"_

The warmth makes him feel more alive. "Would you refuse to untie me, Kel?"

"What?" The blanket's drawn carefully up to cover his head, like Little Red Riding Hood. The thought makes him giggle.

"If they'd – if I'd been – if…" He shivers with the chill, feeling Kelly rubbing his arm briskly. "If I'd… talked?"

"You'd never talk." Uncharacteristically, Kelly's voice is—_scared._

"But—if I did." Scotty feels warmer, steadier now. "Lessay I sp…spilled my guts. You wouldn't refuse to untie me, wouldya? Like… _some_ people?"

"Of course I would." Kelly's right hand rubs steadily up and down his uninjured side. "I would," the hand leaves off chafing warmth into him to reach up and pull the blanket tighter around him, "leave you chained up to the side of a mountain with buzzards peckin' at your liver."

Scotty busts out laughing, gasping with pain and drawing sounds of disapproval from Kelly, but unable to stop. "Some classical scholar. Eagles, not buzzards. _Buzzards."_ He snorts again. "Buzzards. Gotta cow that needs milkin', Paw…"

He realizes Kelly's misdirected him, but he sinks deep into the welcoming warmth, a smile on his face, welling up from the bottom of his soul, from the source that has dawned on him, the sudden realization always there, but stunning nonetheless. No matter what he's done, no matter what secrets he's divulged, he knows that if he's hurt, weak, damaged, he'll always end up here, in Kelly's arms. His partner's comfort is the one thing he can count on. No matter what he's done or who he's betrayed.

_Abraham picked up his knife to slay his son. _His eyes drift shut. Kelly's no father figure, but he'd bet that his partner would cuss a blue streak at any deity who dared so much as _hint _at such a test.

The amusement at _that _ mental image gets him through an hour of surgery and seventeen stitches.


	2. Negotiations

"What I don't dig, man," Scotty mutters, all woozy and dopey after they've dug the bullet out, "is why he… di'n't _talk_."

"What do you mean?" Kelly settles himself more comfortably facing his partner in the little chair he charmed out of the nurses, his hand absently smoothing the crisp cotton sheet over Scotty's arm, the one without the drip in it. "He talked."

"Why… di'n't talk _sooner." _

The memory of Gary's gasping cries, the terrible sound of the blows, strikes pain into Kelly again, and he shakes his head, unwilling to go back there. "Remember a little detail called total anaesthesia? Get some rest, Herman. The mysteries of the universe will wait."

The sleepy eyes turn to Kelly. "Nope… _why?"_

"Maybe he wanted to see how much he could take."

"Scienti… 'speriment, huh?"

"Yeah," Kelly mutters, "maybe."

Scotty blinks, his eyes brighter, but his speech still slurred. "Don' make sense."

Apparently his partner will not rest till he's teased every miserable thread out of the incident. Kelly sighs, feeling the weight gather on his chest, bear him down. "Sometimes, I guess, you feel you have something to prove."

"Uh-uh. Don' get it."

"I guess…" Kelly fumbles for words, something he's not really tried to articulate in too much detail himself. "Maybe he wanted to prove to… to himself, to his dad, to the world, that he could take it."

"Well…you… n'ave to… 'kay?"

"Scotty, for the love of God, you just had enough dope to knock out a bull elephant, now willya please_ knock it off?"_

The arm under the sheet flails, and Kelly grasps it, then lets go, afraid to aggravate the welts—no, that's Gary, _it was Gary being beaten, not Scotty_—but then he remembers that a shoulder wound can hurt all the way down to the forearm, too, and…

Scotty's hand closes around his, the grip cold and shaky but determined. Kelly adjusts the covers where they fell off Scotty's arm, and wraps his other hand round the cool fingers. "You cold, man?"

"No. Lissen. 'Portant." The words are slurred, but perfectly recognizable. "You don'ave to prove anything t'me, Kelly. Not to me, not to nobody. 'Kay?"

He swallows hard. "S—sure I do. I'm a better fisherman…"

"Shuddup." Scotty's hand tightens on Kelly's, then loosens, his breath coming a little faster. "You…"

"Look, Doctor Zhivago, can we save the heartfelt confessions for when you're actually conscious?"

"Nope." The long lashes drift down to cover the dilated pupils. Kelly doubts he's even half-aware, but then the dark eyes snap open again. "Never gonna call y'… traitor… don't care if y'give… other side… atom bomb. Dig, Kel?"

"Oh, that's nice," Kelly snorts, ignoring the feelings this confession stirs in him – Scotty's talking out of his head. "You think I'd give the other side the atom bomb? Now I _know_ they've got you on the good stuff."

"Kelly!" Scotty snaps loudly, his eyes opening wide and frustrated, only half-focused. He articulates his words with exaggerated clarity, fumbling over them only a little; he's almost shouting. "I… do… not… ever… want you thinking you have to hold on or – or I'll think less of you. You wanna talk, it gets too much, you jus' go ahead and spill your guts. I will… re…spect… you." Kelly draws breath to speak, but Scotty shakes his head and, afraid he'll hurt himself, Kelly lets him continue. "I'll never not untie you. Always pick y'up like you do for me. I will not call you a traitor. 'matter what you tell 'em. Don' want you… crippled. Don' want you hurt. Okay, man?"

"Just don't yell. Scotty…"

"Did you _hear_ me?"

"The whole ward heard…"

"Do you _dig?"_

"Yeah, yeah," Kelly holds up his hands in surrender. "I do, I dig, man."

"You will not hold out like a jackass on my account?"

He can't help a chuckle at that. "I won't."

"Promise."

"I promise," Kelly says easily, for it won't be on Scotty's account that he holds out like a jackass. The man slumps back into the pillows in relief and Kelly rises, fixing the sheet, making sure his partner is comfortable. He shakes his head as Scotty, clearly having exhausted his last reserves of strength, slips into sleep._ You say you'd respect me, Jack, but it's got to change something. You know it would. You just won't admit it_.

Perhaps it's even true; perhaps Scotty might find it in his heart to forgive him if he talked under torture, Kelly thinks as he sits down again, laying a hand over his partner's dark one, his own looking funny in Scotty's ring and watch that he took before his partner went into surgery. But _he_, Kelly, wouldn't be able to forgive himself, he thinks, which is why… Yeah, maybe Gary was holding out to prove something to his dad – but maybe it was for himself, to see how long he could hold out, how far he could go.

Scotty blinks, and Kelly starts; he thought his partner was asleep. "Know what you're thinkin'," he slurs.

"Ah, you have developed clairvoyance as the result of the bullet wound, sir? Pardon me, but you see, it is not every day that a man develops supernatural powers just from…"

"Answer me one thing," says Scotty in a low voice. "And gimme some water, man, I'm as parched as a sea sponge in the Sahara."

"Your wish is my command, O Sultan." Kelly hands Scotty the paper cup, unobtrusively keeping his hand where it can catch the cup if holding it becomes too much for Scotty, slipping his other hand behind his head as he sips. "Anything else you wish, sir?"

"Yeah, I wish you to put a sock in it and listen. How'd you feel if it was me bein' tortured and maybe crippled to prove something?"

Kelly chills. He cannot speak.

"Would you say, ah, that's just the breaks, he… knew the risks when he signed up? Huh? Would you say that, Kel?"

"That's just—What do you want me to say?" he snaps, savagely, pulling out his hand from behind Scotty's head. His partner's body jerks with the motion and Scotty gasps in pain.

"Oh, damn!" Kelly freezes. He's such an idiot! "I'm sorry, man. Did I hurt you, I'm such a…" He reaches abortively for Scotty's bound shoulder, taking the paper cup, crumpled in Scotty's clenched fist. "What did I…"

Scotty's face is pale and set, and it hurts Kelly beyond measure to know he's the cause. "Just—the breaks, Melvin…"

The dark hand is frozen, suspended, in mid-air, and Kelly hesitantly brings his own close to it. Scotty clasps it, tight, and Kelly takes it in both of his as his partner breathes hard, riding out his pain. Kelly winces in sympathy, breathing along with him. "Man, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"Kelly._ Kelly!"_

Sweat is standing out on Scotty's face, and Kelly shuts up, grabbing the towel on the bedside table and gently patting the moisture away. "I better call a nurse…"

"You gonna answer me or not, man? You like what you see here? Huh?"

"What kind of a dumb question is…"

"Be happy listening to me gettin'… like Gary?"

Kelly squints at Scotty. Is this anaesthesia-fueled rambling? "What?"

The stare his partner fixes on him is perfectly lucid. "If," he begins, "if – in theory, 'kay? In theory – if I were in Gary's position with a real secret." Kelly swallows. "Yeah. Let's say they whipped on me till I was crippled. Would you be proud that I saved my honor? Would you say, hey, he's a cripple, but at least he isn't a traitor?"

For the life of him, Kelly can't say anything. He swallows, knowing where this is going.

"Would ya, Kel? Or would you say, why didn't the jackass _talk?"_ It's Kelly's turn to stare, finding he's shaking his head slightly. "You readin' me now, Herman?"

Kelly's still speechless, and Scotty sighs exhaustedly. "I… Man, I know _you'd_ never talk, and it scares me half to death sometimes. Scares me they'll kill you, or cripple you. I want you to pr…" He appears to think better of it. "…to at least _think_ about spillin' your guts before that happens, okay Kel?"

"You seem pretty sure it'll happen again," Kelly mutters darkly.

"I hope and pray it never happens again, ever. But if it does—I'm askin' you nice, Kel. Don't hold out too long."

"I won't if you won't," Kelly challenges.

Scotty's face is set. "Can't promise that, man."

But Kelly's the son of a lawyer. "You didn't say _promise_. You said _think_ about it."

The stiff expression relaxes. "So… we both think about it?"

"I think." Kelly half-smiles tentatively. "Therefore I… I'll think about it if you think about it."

"I think, therefore I am. A dumbbell." Scotty sighs theatrically. "If you say so, René."

"Deal?"

"Guess so."

Scotty yawns hugely and tries to shift; Kelly fusses with his pillows, making him comfortable, until the tension drains out of the injured man. He ruffles Scotty's hair lightly. "Gonna stay up all night yacking?"

"Guess I might… grab a couple Z's…"

Kelly settles into the chair by Scotty's bed again, laying his arm alongside Scotty's. "Get me a Y and an X while you're at the store, wouldya?"

"Sure thing…" Scotty turns his arm so that his hand lies across Kelly's wrist. "Take care of yourself, man…"

"I'm not going off to the wars."

"Are too. Don't want you to be a… sacrifice."

"You said it, man. Used, and used _up."_

"I'm a jackass. Other guys, sure. You? Uh-uh."

"Makes two of us."

"Jackasses?"

"Men who are not expendable."

"Glad we agree, Bertram."

"Delighted, Crispin."

"'Night, Kel."

"'Night."


	3. As Long As He Needs Me

AN: This section is better understood if you read _Our Right Trusty and Right Well-Beloved Cousins,_ here on FFN. It's based on the account of Scotty's childhood mentioned therein.

* * *

"Abraham…"

Kelly blinks awake in the soft, quiet darkness of the hospital room. "Whuh? Need sumpn', man?"

"Abraham," intones Scotty loudly, almost declaiming, "Abraham bound his son Isaac to the altar."

"Huh? Oh… Yeah, sure. Sure he did." Kelly raises his head, registering that Scotty's dreaming.

"Bound his son Isaac to the altar…" Scotty's voice cracks, and he's silent for a beat. "…and picked up his knife to… slay his son."

"Scotty," says Kelly, a little worried at the distressed voice in the darkness, "is there something more fun than Bible stories you can entertain me with? Far be it from me to suggest I'm not_ entertained_ by the Alexander Scott Light Comedy and Home Economics Radio Hour, but…"

But there's an odd note in Scotty's voice. "Picked up his knife…" he repeats, "to slay… his son."

Kelly stands, anxiously looking at Scotty in the dim light that filters in through the crack in the door. He takes a breath, frowning as he sees the unhappiness in his partner's normally calm and collected visage. "Scotty," he mutters. "It's all right, man. They kissed and made up."

"To slay…" There's still so much pain in Scotty's face, and Kelly can understand that this caper was hard on his righteous partner, who hates injustice…

"Scotty. That's enough, man." He doesn't want to wake Scotty, but he doesn't like seeing the pained expression. He rises, reaches out, strokes Scotty's hair and brow. "Settle down, Dobbsie. C'mon, cool it, now."

"..Mom?"

"Huh. Close enough. I'll give you a pass this time, on account of you're dopey and all. You gonna go back to sleep like a good little boy now, Alexander?"

Suddenly, Scotty turns, burrowing his sleeping face into Kelly's hand, pressing his cheek into Kelly's palm._ "…Kelly."_

Kelly's startled for a moment, but then, unaccountably touched, gently rubs Scotty's face, only too glad to give comfort. "Yeah, man, it's me," he murmurs, rubbing his thumb up and down Scotty's slender jawline, bringing his other hand up to caress the side of his face. "And I need my beauty sleep too, you know. So forget all that crap and try and get some rest, huh?"

"Kel," Scotty sighs, and perfect peace steals across his features.

"Well," Kelly smiles softly, "I'm sure not the Avon Lady."

He keeps his hands there, cupped around Scotty's face, and watches, overcome with affection, as his partner relaxes back into restful sleep. _You go ahead and sleep, Scotty. I'll just stay right here, _he thinks.

Yeah, he'll stay, here at Scotty's side. For as long as Scotty needs him. After that, well, he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

Kelly lowers himself back into the chair and is soon fast asleep.


End file.
